


Thief Stole Your Heart

by pendragonfics



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Thief Bilbo Baggins, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Awkward Flirting, Bookstore Clerk Reader, F/M, Knitting, M/M, Marriage Proposal, gender neutral reader, no pronouns for reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: Bilbo met Reader at a bar, and years later, they're still going strong. What happens when he enters their bookstore and starts acting strange?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Reader, Bilbo Baggins/You
Kudos: 18





	Thief Stole Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr request!

The first time that you met Bilbo, it was at a pub that both of you didn’t want to be in. With your cider in hand and his beer, you bumped into one another during a kerfuffle at the bar. Something to do with a drinking game between two young men, a tall blonde and a tattooed construction worker gone too far. Whatever it was, you were left wearing his brew, and he yours. Which led to introductions, apologies, and frankly was a tolerable exit from being the third wheel. When you explained you worked in a book store, he had introduced himself as an adventurer.

He didn’t appear to be the sort of man who was an adventurer. He had a trim haircut, clean face, and earnest smile. Wore an unembellished sweater, had a novel tucked under his arm and drank the same beer the whole night. Adventurer. It wasn’t until you realised he had come in the company of a notorious motorbike crew when it sunk in.

This man you had met, the kind-faced, soft, polite man was their…er…handyman. A man who was handy with his hands. In all honesty, didn’t bother you. You were quite the unadventurous type; you drank the same thing every time you visited the cafe, read the same magazines and lived a boring, safe life that kept you in a box. And Bilbo didn’t — and it was for that fact which made you intrigued.

Intrigued enough for the pair of you to remain in each others company for years. Three years and eight months of many a run-in and unplanned shenanigans, somehow, you and Bilbo were still together. You had seen each other in some strange places, too. He had cancelled plans to nurse you back to health (that time after food poisoning, or that time you had the flu or that time with that stomach bug), and you had been his plus one to his unpleasant and estranged extended family gatherings. But mostly, in all that time, you had worked your way from sales clerk to finally, the owner of Shire Softcovers & Hardback Bookstore.

Which led to where you were present. Sitting behind the register on a quilted soft stool, you perch with a ball of yarn between your feet, on the floor. It’s hidden to customers who enter the store, but to those who can hear the telltale cli-click, cli-click’s, you’re knitting. Usually, there were chores, but they were done. Usually, there were customers, but on account of the blustery mid-autumn Sunday afternoon, there were none. Usually, you would be on your phone, but it was flat — and you had forgotten the cord.

It was supposed to be a scarf, but no matter what you did, it wasn’t seeming to grow longer at all. If anything, you swore that the yarn was cursed. An artefact from a horrid hag from a long-gone era who hated knitting. But whatever it was, you kept at it; because it was better than staring out the window, and watching Doctor Peredhel chasing unruly teenagers from his clinic (although you knew you should agree with the older healthcare professional’s actions, it was amusing to watch aspiring graffiti artists misspell gonorrhoea).

It wasn’t until you realised the scarf was growing wider, not long when the little bell at the door tinkled. Glancing from your accursed craft, you met eyes with the newcomer to the store. But instead of it being a customer, it was none other than your boyfriend, and partner in crime.

“Bilbo, thank goodness you’re here,” you gasp, abandoning your knitting to rush to him. Dramatically, you kiss his cheek and pose like a starlet from the silent film era. “I don’t know what I would have done with myself if you hadn’t arrived.”

“Slow day?” He chuckled. Untying his scarf, Bilbo pecked at your cheek.

“The slowest, ” You agree. Straightening the already perfect display of political autobiographies, you add, “I honestly can’t believe it, Bilbo. Nobody at all today. Not even Mister Radagast or Tauriel.”

He raises an eyebrow and sheds his coat onto the desk. He’s wearing a dark green sweater underneath, and the collar of his shirt beneath is rumpled and not on the top. The pockets of his trousers seem full, with an outline of a phone and keys, but there are other lumpy shapes you don’t recognise. At the moment between your remark and the next to follow, he scratches at his left palm idly, his fingernails short and clean. Either his eczema is back, or he’s true to his word and truly has quit smoking.

“I don’t know about the old hippy,” Bilbo says. He takes your hand in his, and swings it somewhat awkwardly — to someone else, yes, but to the pair of you, it’s comforting — at his side. “But I saw Tauriel in the ’shop today. I think Kili invited her.”

You pause. “Tauri and Thorin’s nephew?” You bite your lip, mind full of unpinned threads working their way to conclusions. “I didn’t see that one coming.”

“They seem quite oblivious to it all, however,” Bilbo continues. “Maybe they’ll realise their feelings. Maybe not. They are young.”

“Is this your way of saying that we are not?” You inspect him, part curious, part suspicious.

He wasn’t always so clumsy with his words; Bilbo was a man of forethought, in both his private and work life. It paid off marvellously when he worked for the heist against the antisocial Mr Smaug (a rather awful venture capitalist whose hoard hurt the town for decades) and many other of the jobs carried out by the Oakenshield Thirteen.

“What?” He blinks. “N-no.”

You step around him, trying to see the side he’s favouring, but Bilbo reacts quick enough, circling you as you circle him. His left brow is raised as he watches you watching him, and you narrow your eyes, trying to read his face for clues.

But there are none.

“All right,” you hum, unsatisfied with the turn of events, “Keep your secrets.”

“I will,” he replies.

“Good.” You nod. “I’ll be over here,” you start walking toward the counter, back to the knitting you’d left, but all the while, your eyes never leave Bilbo’s. “…if you need me.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he responds too fast, and too high a pitch. “But…if I do need you…”

“I’ll be here,” you finish his sentence.

You continue the row of stitches, not bothering to unpick the problematic extra lines of knots you had put there before. As you resume knitting, the wool on the floor rolling about the stool, you can’t help but notice Bilbo as he strolls down the otherwise empty aisles of the bookstore. His hands are in his pockets, pushed deep so you can’t see an outline of anything else that’s in there. He walks from the adventure novels, past the self-help section, and further into nonfiction. You’re trying to pearl the stitches, focusing all of your efforts onto it. But all you can think of is that he’s in the photography section, which borders onto the wedding planning—

You leave your knitting once more, rushing to find Bilbo. You dart around the shelves, trying to find him. You try to stand as tall as you can to see over the shelves, but as low as they are, you can’t seem to see the familiar honey brown head of hair that belongs to Bilbo. You stop, and turn around, hoping he hasn’t snuck behind you in an attempt at a prank, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Lost?” He says, behind you.

You turn once more, and standing as if he had been there the whole time, Bilbo tosses a small box in his hands, catching it with ease. His eyes are on you, but the box still falls and rises in his hands perfectly. If you didn’t know his occupation, you would be impressed by the hand-eye-coordination that goes into the party trick. But still, you are impressed, and slightly out of breath from the surprise of it, and you feel somewhat confused as to his behaviour.

“I can’t believe I messed up that segue,” Bilbo says under his breath, catching the box. He doesn’t throw it again; instead, he fiddles with it, single-handedly. “It was supposed to be —” He runs his empty hand through his hair, and slowly, sinks to his feet as if he’s to tie a shoelace.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is shaky.

He frowns, from his knees. “I suppose I’m just down here. You know. With a little box that I bought, and I thought of you and all that I love about you.”

“Bilbo…” you whisper. “I—”

He blinks, a furious blush coming across his face. He sighs and starts to stand up. But before he’s at his full height, you sink to your knees and take him in your arms. It was supposed to be something soft, something romantic; because it had taken you too long to realise what he had been alluding to, and disheartened, he was backing out of it. But instead of the gesture you wished to show, it came out somewhat…like a football tackle, or like a security guard to a thief.

“What was that for?” Bilbo asks, confused, from the floor.

You fumble for the box beside him, and awkwardly, atop him on the itchy carpet of the bookstore, you hover above him, wishing to not crush him. He laughs, softly, and you lay your forehead against his chest, the laughter consuming you too.

“I love you too,” you say, through the laughter. “And I’ll have you and your little box if that’s okay with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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